


On the Rhine

by DancingInTheGrey



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Fluff, Gay, M/M, Popularity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 07:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5776690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingInTheGrey/pseuds/DancingInTheGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron is your typical star high school student - captain of the football team, member of a well-respected family, and everyone who's anyone wants to be his friend. Nasir is...not. Yet, as these two meet in a collision of personalities, attitudes, and stereotypes, they might just learn something about themselves and each other. A story of self-actualization and young love. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Agron was…content. 

Why wouldn’t he be? He was the star player of one of his town’s high schools and as the other was believed to be a complete and utter joke among those who mattered, he could therefore be considered the best senior football player in small Solace and was practically expected, if not guaranteed, a scholarship to any university he desired once the season truly started in the fall. Even if the scholarship would somehow slip through the cracks, money was not a problem for the Schmidt household with his mother being the one and only cardiothoracic surgeon at Solace Memorial and father acting as a prominent, well-respected member of the Church; there were not many in the town who didn’t know of the Schmidt’s. People flocked to him as if he was a magnet, an attraction that always seemed to bring money, popularity, and beauty together into one predictable clique, and he was its king. Problems such as waiting in the cafeteria line or having to worry about not having someone to compare homework answers with (when he actually did his own assignments) were never a hassle.

So, why wasn’t he happy? He had an amazing life that some pray for – money, cars, sports, God, friends, and don’t forget the girls. Being on the football team, among other sports, for years, he’d earned a strong, built form, which accompanied by his tall stature and bright green eyes, attracted many to try and earn a spot at his side. He wasn’t a prude and fooled around with a few from time to time though every time, it was nothing serious. He was waiting for someone special, someone who wasn’t those girls.

Agron turned into East Solace High’s parking lot and swerved his Mustang into his designated spot in the front row. Although students were technically not allowed to claim certain slots, he did. No one dared argue with him and if someone tried raising an issue, his friend Crixus would quickly shush them. The meathead wasn’t exactly rich nor charismatic but earned his popularity from scare tactics, bullying, and sucking up to those above him, like Agron. The football captain didn’t really mind as he found Crixus to be practical in some situations and simply tolerated his presence though he at times wanted to punch the steroid-ridden douche himself for the comments that came out of his mouth

Like expected, Crixus stepped out from the shadows of an oak tree across the street from the school and, tossing a cigarette butt into the gravel and crushing it under his heel, jogged over to Agron. He was almost as tall as Agron but not quite, though that difference was made up in muscle mass, which showed from the one-size-too-small shirts he wore that were always absent of sleeves. In a fight, even Agron doubted he could take the guy so he preferred the young man as an ally rather than foe.

“Hey,” said Agron, shifting his backpack on his broad shoulders. “What’s up with the cigarette near school?”

“Mom freaked out on me for doing it at the – err, house this morning so I had no other choice,” Crixus explained, shooting a quick glance at Agron, who kept his affect nonchalant. He knew that his friend wasn’t very well off and lived in a trailer with just him and his mom but as Crixus seemed bothered by it, Agron never brought it up much. 

“You could’ve stopped along the road or something. If Oenomaus caught you smoking on school grounds again, you’d be so fucked, dude. You know how Coach is with maintaining a decent public profile,” intoned Agron for the countless time but the meathead never seemed to get it engrained into his mind. Half the time, he hoped Crixus would get caught and kicked off the football team but he was a decent player so it was a half-hearted prayer.

“Yeah, yeah – I know.” Crixus looked glum, like a dejected child but perked up almost instantly. “Hey, want to know who texted me last night?”

Agron barely controlled himself enough to not roll his eyes. “Let me guess: Saxa?” Saxa was a girl who Crixus has been obsessed with since junior high and talked about everyday as if she was a mystical being instead of a pretty, albeit aggressive, volleyball player whose attitude rivaled a hungry bobcat. She often sat with them at lunch but Crixus would always fall thankfully silent and shoot her hopeful looks from the corner of his eyes, which she often consciously ignored to her amusement. 

“Dude, how you know?” asked Crixus, almost suspiciously, but Agron just shrugged and the other young man continued. “Anyway, so she was texting me last night and I guess her father is a member of the School Board and he told her that West Solace High” – he spat on the ground – “has to be closed down for a while as they found asbestos or some shit in the walls.”

This was news to Agron. “Really? Where are the students going then for school?”

“Most of them losers are coming here is what she found out,” Crixus said, an expression of disgust crossing his broad face. “Filth staining our halls with their mediocrity.” Agron was just surprised he knew how to pronounce ‘mediocrity’ nonetheless use it in a sentence appropriately. “That’s what Saxa said, anyway.” Ah-ha! “Her father didn’t say how long it would be that we have to deal with the little fuckers.” 

Who cares?

Agron honestly didn’t care about students from West Solace High, or believe they were scum or people born tragically “on the wrong side of the tracks” as a few of his father’s friends were want to say in hushed tones as if it was a subject not to be spoken about. He simply just had never met any of them except in sport competitions and they usually weren’t much of a challenge, the tension and rivalry between the schools restricting conversation except for your basic heckling. 

As Crixus continued his one-sided rant to himself, Agron simply supplied him with nods and “Uh-huhs” at random intervals but he wasn’t paying attention as something else caught his attention while they loitered in the courtyard for the bell to ring. A white bus was pulling up alongside the curb in front of the school and tattered letters on the side read West Solace High in bland, block calligraphy, and students were starting to get out. At this point, Crixus went silent and he glared as the high school kids awkwardly got out and looked at the school, some shyly peering around the courtyard, with expressions twisting between boredom to nervousness to disgust, rivaling Crixus’ own countenance. 

“I didn’t think they would be here so damn soon, fuck!” Crixus said and not too softly as his voice carried and his statement was met with a few laughs from Easters and frowns from Westers, who glared in their direction. 

Agron swept them all with a bored gaze as if expecting them to be different in some form or another, a reason behind the prejudice, but found them exactly how he assumed they would appear – like high school students. Some wore regular shirts and jeans, some girls decided to wear skirts or shorts, some boys wore hoodies and running shorts, and whatever mix happened to fall in between. Yet, one figure caught Agron’s eye as he was the last to jump down from the bus, the door shutting with a creaky screech and clang as he landed on the pavement gracefully. 

He was short, almost ridiculously so if compared to Agron, and lithe, not exactly skinny but all sinew and muscle, as if he needed nothing else. Compared to the white of the bus behind him, he was like a silhouette against the sun, a dark blur of black jeans, a navy blue hoodie with the hood pulled down low over his face, and Converses that only had a slim strip of white around the shoes’ base, faded to grey by wear and tear. Raven black hair spilled out from underneath the hood and the boy tugged it away from his head revealing a thin face, delicate yet hard with aquiline features, and brown eyes flaring in the morning sun. 

He was…He was beautiful.

Agron’s stomach flipped uncertainly and he licked his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know why but the newcomer caught his attention, fascinated with him as he had never seen a guy like him before. Boys at East Solace High were basically all the same – short haired, Bieber, or styled with enough hair gel to bind concrete. Clones, repeats, typical. Not him though, he was different, and not just because of his looks; there was a certain languidness to the way he moved, easy and unrestricted, as if nothing bothered him, as if he didn’t care. 

Crixus too was looking at the long-haired boy but not with benign interest, an expression of distaste and confusion on his face. “Is that a dude or a really ugly chick?” Again, he didn’t check his voice and his words carried over the hushed sound of nervous chattering and backpacks being squirmed with. The boy, who was standing close to them at the edge of the Westers’ crowd, turned his head and flashed Crixus a look but didn’t say anything, simply crossing his arms and looking away as if he was waiting for something or someone. Yet, Agron noticed a slight flush of his checks, making his slightly dark skin deepen as he watched the white bus drive away.

Crixus saw this and his face flushed angrily; he was not one to be ignored when confronting someone. Tossing his bag on the ground, he stormed up behind the newcomer. “Hey, Wester! Did you hear me when I asked you a question?”

He appeared as if he considered not turning around but he deigned and slowly turned on the back of his heels, facing Crixus with a cool expression, which was either admirable or foolish as Crixus loomed over him by at least a foot. The boy cocked an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “I’m sorry, what’s that? I don’t speak troll.” 

There was a stunned silence among the courtyard, especially from the Easters who knew of Crixus and his infamous reputation, and Agron felt a slow sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach for the poor boy. Then a slow chuckling came from the crowd of new students and Crixus, whose eyes went wide in an almost comical expression, flared an ever deeper ugly shade of red. 

“You fucker!” Crixus snarled and took a step forward while the boy kept his stance. “I can’t even tell if you’re a boy or girl with that long hair of yours.” The boy finally showed emotion as the last comment made him tuck in his chin slightly, face almost turning the same color as Crixus; the taller boy looked pleased with himself and continued cruelly. “So, what is it then? Are you a fucking fag or a damn dyke?”

The boy pursed his lips but didn’t comment. 

Agron wanted to step in and do something but he couldn’t. Interfering now would only make Crixus angry with him and he preferred to keep the brute on his good side but the boy seemed so small, so unaware of the hole he was digging himself in.

“Huh? Can’t you say nothing? Didn’t they teach you how to speak English over there in that shit show of a high school you go to?” Crixus barraged him with questions, the boy’s silence only encouraging the verbal banter. He smiled nastily. “Or did all that fucking asbestos rot your brain to mush, you fucking pansy? Huh?”

The boy snapped.

Agron barely saw him move. There was a swift blur of black, a sweeping of a leg, and Crixus went down like a ton of bricks, falling upon his back against the hard concrete. The boy, who wasn’t even breathing hard, had his knee on the other boy’s throat, face expressionless. He bent down and spoke slowly, voice carrying in the courtyard so everyone could hear. “One, I am a fucking guy as you already knew before you started this shit. Two, don’t you know you shouldn’t use a double negative when speaking? Three, asbestos is a carcinogen that primarily affects your lungs, not your brain. Four, my name is Nasir and I brought you down without even trying so get out of my face. Understand?”

Crixus was practically purple, though probably from rage than suffocation, and he glared murderously at Nasir. He raised his hands to throw him off but Nasir pressed down slightly, shaking his head. “None of that – do you understand me?”

The football player eventually gave in and moved his head marginally in what could have been a nod. Nasir seemed content and removed his leg, bouncing up and away from Crixus just as another white bus pulled onto the curb and more Westers got out, adding more students to the already crowded courtyard. Agron watched, still in stunned shock, Nasir disappear into the crowd and towards the school, away from the gasping Crixus who was now just starting to get up. 

Agron was torn between the stranger and his somewhat friend and, after a moment’s hesitation, hurried after Nasir. 

 

xXx POV CHANGE xXx

 

Nasir hurried into the building as fast he could without running but he didn’t know his way and only randomly turned down a hallway, trying to find a bathroom or the library or anywhere where he could hide and get away from that asshole. This was definitely not how he pictured his first day at East Solace High to start. He always knew it would be bad, of course, as the preppy shits here were monsters hidden in designer jeans and pretty vehicles but not this intolerant. Seriously, the dude freaked out about his fucking hair.

Controlling his respirations, Nasir went up a couple of staircases and looking around, found himself luckily in front of a library. The smell of books and multiple computers enveloped him as he walked into the large space, mostly vacant of people except for a librarian typing behind a computer and two students flicking through magazines while whispering to each other but he didn’t mind, enjoying the solitude as he always had. Even though he had never been in here before, it was refuge.

Nasir, who had nothing else to do for the next twenty minutes until the bell rang for first period, began skimming the shelves of books, magazines, dictionaries, and almanacs. It was true that more than half didn’t interest him but just the presence of written word surround him was a comfort, a place where he wouldn’t be judged, ridiculed, or criticized with a dirty look simply because he wore the same hoodie two days in a row or that his right shoe had a hole in it. A place where he could simply be himself and that was good enough. 

He knew he wasn’t popular, even at his old school, and Nasir kept telling himself that he didn’t mind. The mean jokes were just revealing to him that he was above their immaturity; the pranks and teases simply a way to provoke a reaction in him that would bring him down to their level; and that everything else which happened to him was so when he was by himself, the loneliness just that more heavier. He didn’t mind, he didn’t need anyone, he just needed his books, his writings, and his own unbridled thoughts. 

Nasir heard footsteps behind him and his heart missed a beat as he imagined the asshole from before finally catching up, ready to enact revenge. They were away a little ways away from the main door where the librarian and two other students were, deep in the archives, but if he started a commotion, there was no doubt they could hear it. When he turned around, pivoting on his heels so he could fling himself in out of the way of a punch if needed, he was surprised to find someone else there.

The first thing Nasir noticed was his height. There was tall but then there was tall where it made him acutely aware of his own depravation in stature, which slightly irked Nasir. Like the asshole from before, he was well muscled and broad of shoulder but he didn’t gloat it as much. Yes, his black shirt was V-neck and revealed the rise of impressive pectoral muscles but it wasn’t like he was trying – plus, he still had his sleeves sown on. He had a handsome face, strengthened by dark, styled hair, a firm jawline, a thin mouth, and a faint layer of stubble that no high schooler should be able to grow but somehow he did. Though what really caught Nasir’s attention was the young man’s eyes – he had never seen such a color of green. They reminded him of the color of leaves just before fall, where they were just beginning to fade form deep emerald to light beryl. Bright and alluring, they grabbed Nasir and dared to drown him in their depths. 

“Damn – you’re fast,” the young man said, slightly panting. He flashed a grin that revealed white teeth and impressive dimples. “I thought I’d lost you for a moment but then I heard your steps on the stairs so I figured you were heading for the library. Good choice – Crixus would never think of coming up here. Now that I think about it…he probably has never even opened a book before in his life.” He was talking really fast and almost as if he couldn’t stop himself. 

Nasir tore himself away from the young man’s intense eyes and frowned while staring at his nose, which was also damningly nice. “Why are you following me? Trying to finish what your friend couldn’t?”

The man put up his hands in a defensive gesture, seriousness displacing the smile and deepening the green of his eyes. “No, no, no! I…I just wanted to apologize for what Crixus – the dude you sent to the ground like a badass, I might add – said and did. I want to say he’s usually not a complete douche and asshole but that would by lying as he pretty much is all the time; I’d pictured knocking some sense into him from time to time as well but just never did it.”

“Apology not accepted but thanks for the attempt anyway,” said Nasir and started to turn. “You can go away now.”

“Wait!” 

A hand fell upon his shoulder.

Nasir snapped a look at the young man, narrowing his eyes threateningly in a way that showed he wouldn’t be afraid to do exactly the same to him as he did this Crixus if he didn’t let go. The hand promptly released its hold and the guy stuffed his hands into his pockets and raised his eyebrows while bobbing his head pointedly; he looked ridiculous. “There, see – no hands. Even if I wanted to do something, which I don’t, you could defend yourself, which you won’t have to, not from me anyway.” He sighed. “Sorry, I’m usually not this weird. I’m Agron.”

“I don’t care who you are, just go away,” said Nasir forcefully, not really understanding the dude in front of him. He’d already said the usually garbage that some people say to help ease their guilt and make them feel better about themselves so they can go on with their lives in relative peace while Nasir’s sucked constantly, but Agron was not giving up. “Just go back to your friend and we’ll call it even.”

“Crixus isn’t really my friend.”

“Really?” Nasir asked, incredulous. “So you just go apologizing on random people’s behalves because you’re what? Bored? Just that much of a good person? A saint?”

“I think it’s a combination of all three, really,” joked Agron but he quickly added as he saw Nasir’s expression darken. “Okay, so he’s technically a friend but I don’t like him much. I mostly keep him around because he doesn’t require much in return conversation, simply going off on his own tangent and never shutting up unless told to do so, which is often.”

Agron grinned again, making his whole face appear younger. Nasir forced himself not to return the gesture though his lips tugged at the corners slightly as if he automatically wanted to mirror the brightness of the boy’s in front of him. “You speak as if you control him, like he’s a pet of yours that you keep on a leash and allow him to be with you as if it’s some great privilege,” stated Nasir bluntly, tightening his hands into fists to keep them from shaking as his body was wanted to do when confronted with long social conversations. “Are you really that arrogant?”

“What? No – I just meant, I was just saying, I’m – I’m the star member of the football team, I have a nice car, and my dad does a lot with the Church and the people all love me here as –,” started Agron but was interrupted as Nasir suddenly stepped forward and grabbed his jaw in a tight hold and brought him down to his level, shoulders bent. Green met brown, emerald saw cinnamon, rich took in poor, and alone in popularity was revealed to loneliness in isolation. 

Nasir was silent for a moment, trying to calm the storming rage inside of his chest at Agron’s words. Star of the football team. Nice vehicle. Dad’s with the Church. People’s love. Everything Nasir didn’t have and, at one time or another, desired. It was guys like Agron who really made him angry, the ones who had everything handed to them on a golden platter and just expected that to continue without any contributions of their own. 

“Agron,” Nasir started slowly, not looking away from Agron’s frustratingly green eyes. “I don’t fucking care. You may think you’re special for being able to throw a ball or spend your daddy’s money but I don’t. I’m not like the other kids in high school; I don’t care about being popular or liked and I certainly don’t need to make sure you like me. No, I think you’re just as bad as your asshole friend, Crixus. You may not have called me a fag or a dyke or tried to beat me up but standing to the side and watching is just as bad, maybe even worse as you knew you could stop it. So just leave me the fuck alone.”

Nasir released him with a jerk just as the bell rang. Without looking at him, he walked around Agron’s wide form and hurried back to the entrance of the library. He walked quickly though not because he cared if he was late or not; he was trying to run away from the warmth of Agron’s face against his hand and the brightness of his green eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crixus is pissed; Spartacus is a texter; Saxa's a bitch; Mira likes Agron; Naevia is fierce; Agron is obsessed about a certain Little Man; and Nasir is in the dark - literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for the comments and kudos! They are greatly appreciated! I apologize for any grammar/punctuation errors. I'm a nursing student, not majoring in English.
> 
> P.S. If you want to picture how Agron would look younger, google Dan in his twenties. Oh my fucking word - that man is too beautiful, sexy, and cute for his own good! Really wish he was gay!!!
> 
> Sorry, I digress...Enjoy!

“Crixus! Heard you got your ass kicked by a Wester – is it true? You slip in their shit or something?”

“Dude, maybe when the Westers go back to their school, we can trade you for the girl. We’d be better in the end.”

“Do you want me to get the nurse for you…troll?”

Halfway into first period, Agron found himself sitting with his usual crew – moody Crixus, silent Spartacus, cunning Saxa, gentle Mira, and pretty Naevia – on the bleachers of the school’s larger gymnasium. The whole school had been called for a special announcement that everyone basically already knew about. The West was invading the East, which was not a popular opinion but there was little anyone could do about it so instead of complaining, students took up the next topic of conversation: Crixus and his beat down by the mysterious Wester.

Agron’s friends were relentless with garbs and snide comments to Crixus, especially Saxa, and he may not have been bothered by this from the others but from the girl he liked-slash-obsessed over? He was furious. Though not with the one construing the snarky remarks but with Nasir, which Agron thought was slightly ironic as it was Crixus’ fault and display of false bravado in the first place that pushed Nasir into taking him to the ground. Though arguing with him would be pointless and result in a headache, so Agron kept quiet and simply endured the furious whispered sayings Crixus made in his defense.

“I could’ve taken the little fucker…He was just lucky…If I was actually serious about it…I’m going to pummel him into the ground when I have a chance…Fucker better not dare come show his face near me again.”

Blonde and very pretty Saxa, who was talking to Mira and Naevia about the young, handsome teacher Mr. Gannicus in gossiping tones, perked up. “Surrrrrre, Crixus. From what Nemetes was telling me when I was late for this” – she seemed very proud of herself for that fact– “you couldn’t have done anything even if you wanted to. Apparently this kid, who looked like a middle schooler, totally just kicked your ass. I’m sure glad those muscles are doing something for you, huh?”

Crixus, who would’ve slammed his fist into anyone else who dared say that directly to his face, just turned a very ugly shade of magenta, bowed his head, and muttered something under his breath that even Agron couldn’t hear despite sitting right next to him on the bleachers. This made Saxa laugh openly at his reaction, eyes glittering with humor and amusement at the big man’s nervousness. She continued to taunt Crixus but Agron shook his head, exchanged looks with Spartacus – who was flicking idly through Facebook on his phone – and instead turned his thoughts upon the mysterious boy named Nasir. 

Agron wasn’t exactly sure what drew him to Nasir but the beautiful boy kept popping up into his head, even when he tried pushing him away or actively thinking about something or someone else but found eyes – a color between melting chocolate or warm cinnamon spice, he couldn’t decide – gazing at him like no one else had ever done so. When Nasir had grabbed his face and looked at him evenly, Agron considered himself small and unimportant, two things he had never felt before. His large frame didn’t matter, his parent’s influences were unimportant, and the fact that he was captain of the football team seemed just an aspect of his life, not the whole, true purpose.

At first, Agron was pissed. Who did that little man think he was? Yeah, he was privileged to have parents who were supportive and provided him with what he believed he needed but that didn’t mean he was a spoiled rich bitch and had everything handed to him. Football was something he worked and trained hard for most of his life, especially after his brother Duro’s incident when his parents placed a lot of pressure upon Agron to take up the misplaced mantle. Plus, he wasn’t Crixus, he didn’t go out of his way to make other people’s lives hell. Yeah, he might not have saved everyone Crixus or his pals, Tyler and Julius, decided to torment but he was never an active part in it. That had to stand for something.

Yet, as Agron mulled over Nasir’s words, he started wondering if the little man had a point…

“Agron! Dude – pay attention!” Agron jumped slightly as someone hit him in the shoulder and he glared at Saxa, who just smirked in return. 

“What?” He asked, slightly short. “I was daydreaming so nice.”

“We could tell by the drool on your hand,” interjected Mira, eyes twinkling with friendly humor as she looked up at Agron. He was aware that she had a crush on him for a while but he didn’t want to get her hopes up only to drop them like he’d done with so many other girls before; Mira was emotionally fragile and Spartacus had a softness for the petite, dark-haired girl, so Agron kept his distance. “I almost thought you were going to slide right off and face plant into the bleachers.”

Agron smiled slightly but didn’t add to it, instead looking back around at Saxa. “So, what were you saying?”

“I asked: why you didn’t help out your bro here when he got his ass beaten?” Saxa repeated, twirling a hand around in her hair with a small, devilish smile as she stared blatantly at Crixus, gauging his reaction. “I can understand letting it happening as it sounds hilarious and the highlight of my month but kind of uncool if you let the twerp get away with it.”

Crixus shot his head up, brow furrowed in sudden thought, and gave Agron a withering look from under bushy eyebrows. “She’s right – where did you go, man?” Then, with a swift glance to Saxa, quickly added: “Not that I needed you because everything was under control but you at least could’ve caught the kid.”

Everyone’s attention turned to him and although he was used to it, he couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous as his mind scrambled for a rationale behind his actions. He certainly couldn’t indulge them with the truth – that was for sure – so he lied.

“I tried going after him,” started Agron. “After seeing you get your ass handed to you by a kid not even half your body weight, I was so fucking amazed at this ninja kid I couldn’t help but think I was dreaming. Then when I found out the mighty Crixus wasn’t so great, I went after him. But I couldn’t find him with all the new students from West High hanging about. I still checked the library and a few of the bathrooms but no sign of the dude; he must have left the school…” He hoped the hint would drop Crixus’s plans of trying to find Nasir that same day and give the little man some sort of peace.

Yet, Crixus wasn’t to be stopped. “Fucking doubt it, not on the first day his school shits on ours. Little fuck is probably hiding somewhere, huddled in a corner, and wishing that he never messed with Crixus Miller.” He cracked his knuckles threateningly but Agron rolled his eyes. From the frustratingly little he knew of Nasir, he didn’t peg the guy to be a coward. 

Naevia was of the same mind. “That doesn’t make sense though, Crix. If this new kid was as frightened as you’re suggesting, he wouldn’t have done what he did in the first place.” She blushed slightly as he glared at her but she bore his anger with head held high. “Don’t be mad at me! You were the one who did something incredibly stupid and then made a bigger idiot of yourself by underestimating him. If anything, I wouldn’t mind meeting this kid and giving him a high five.”

Crixus eyes practically bulged out of his head with anger and astonishment, then he smirked, coy and devious. “A high five? From what Julius was telling me your gratitude is something a little bit more…X-rated.”

Saxa and Mira both burst into surprised giggles, exchanging shocked glances with each other, before watching Naevia for her reaction. The darker-skinned girl, however, maintained her composure. “Your friend, Julius, is a complete prick,” she spat and shook her head, a few black hairs escaping from her braids that she kept close to the scalp. “Nothing happened. He spread those rumors, lies, because at Spartacus’ Back-to-School keg, he tried getting me to go downstairs with him and when I told him to ‘fuck off,’ he got offended like the bitch boy he is.”

“That’s not what Julius said and Tyler has a similar story to back my boy up,” argued Crixus, who had wilted slightly that Naevia wasn’t as affected by his words as he was to hers. “Apparently you have a very gifted mouth, if you know what I mean.”

Agron stifled a sigh. A ten-year-old child knew what he was suggesting. 

“Of course he did – they’re best friends. They’d lie for each other to cover up murder.” Naevia stood and grabbed her book bag. Whipping the loose strands of hair out of her face, she glared at Crixus. “You don’t need to be such a douche, Crixus. You were made small for the first time in your life and you don’t like it. Get over it – there’ll always be someone bigger or better or smarter. Deal!” Then she stormed off, striding down the bleachers and disappearing into the crowd of students who were still clamoring to find seats next to friends or significant others, despite the fact that the school assembly hadn’t started yet. 

Crixus opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, grasping for something to say, but Agron just flat out said, “Just shut up. You know she’s right.” The brute growled threateningly but fell silent, smoldering in his own self-hatred. Spartacus grinned appreciatively to himself, never liking when his friends were arguing with each other, and started texting his girlfriend Sura at rapid pace; Saxa and Mira put their heads together and talked about recent events, going back and forth between if Naevia, who they were supposedly to be friends with, was a slut or not. Very tactful. 

Usually Agron would take no notice of it but after meeting Nasir and his words “Are you really that arrogant?” echoing in his head, he couldn’t help but be aware of his friends in a new light. Well, he already knew Crixus was a douchebag and Agron had no true defense for keeping him around besides that he was a well-known and well-tolerated shit pile. Spartacus was okay; he usually kept to himself, only perking up from his phone – the lifeline to his girlfriend who lived the great distance of twenty miles from Solace in an even smaller town and who went to a different school – when he deigned to enter into the conversation. Saxa was a bitch covered by beauty, her attitude and personality rivaling even a black mamba, but kept it cloaked in sweet yet poisonous insults and passive-aggressive comments. Mira could’ve been decent and kind but she was too easily swayed by Saxa and other mean girls who believed popularity and prettiness gave them the privilege to be controlling and ridiculing. Naevia was also not too bad but her pride easily toyed with her emotions and her mouth usually ended her up in places like detention or getting suspended from playing volleyball, like she was for a whole season last year. 

Agron’s friends were assholes. 

So what did that make him? 

At this time, Principal Batiatus finally approached the middle of the gym where a microphone stand was hooked up and called everyone’s attention, the plea falling on mostly deaf ears. Agron had met the man a few times, all due to football or other sport competitions, and found him to be a whiny, self-absorbed man who enjoyed the fact (or so he believed) that it was all due to his mighty leadership of running the school that resulted in Agron and his fellow teammates being so talented and prized. Therefore, on principle alone, he ignored the principal. 

Agron pulled out his own phone and clicked into the Facebook application. Multiple numbers encircled in red popped up next to the Requests, Messenger, and Notification options that bordered the bottom of the app and he clicked on Request, slightly apprehensive, slightly hopeful as he wondered if Nasir had added him but it was just the usual students who were trying to either increase their friend counts or enjoy the pride of knowing they were friends with Agron Schmidt.  
Agron blinked.

Did he actually just think that?

After a moment, Agron accepted all the requests then moved onto notifications. There was nothing except for a few vague comments about the new students from West Solace High coming over the tracks that divided the town to East Solace High and casually tagging him in posts as if he was there with them. He usually untagged himself in those posts but he could careless currently and instead, after finding nothing of interest in his messages, went to the search box and typed in Nasir. He wasn’t exactly sure on how to spell it and the little man never said his last name so he tried different variations and tried stalking other known Westers to see if they had him on their friend lists – nothing.

Disappointed but not defeated, Agron turned to Twitter then Instagram then Tumblr before calling defeat. Frustrated, he stuffed his phone back into his bag and glared at nothing in particular. What kind of high schooler didn’t have Facebook or Twitter or something? Even the chess club kids had a Tumblr page. That was sort of suspicious, Agron thought to himself as he leaned against the gym’s brick wall. Not having some form of social media account was almost considered taboo, even when you weren’t that outgoing or didn’t have that many friends. Even faking to have a life was better than not faking at all. 

Maybe he’s a part of the Witness Protection Program, Agron mused, or a secret undercover spy from the FBI who was watching all of their movements and recording their conversations to detect if there was a terrorist or foreign anarchist among them – it would explain his combat skills. 

Or maybe Nasir just simply didn’t care. Being a part of Facebook or following the latest celebrity on Twitter maybe wasn’t appealing to him, even if it was what the status quo expected – no, practically demanded from kids in general these days. Honestly, Agron himself barely logged into his Twitter account and didn’t even know how to use Snapchat besides watching moronic videos from others. It was all to maintain the charade of keeping up with the Joneses, the appeal of having everything but actually having nothing where it truly mattered. 

Agron closed his eyes, squinting hard as he felt the slow, undeniable pressure of a headache coming along. This whole day had been a mess of things happening and it was not even noon…plus, it was a fucking Tuesday. 

Slightly muffled as if from a distance and so soft he probably wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t actively trying to tune out Batiatus, Agron heard signing. Husky and male, it wasn’t anything outstanding but it was nice, pretty almost.

 

“-started something  
Built up from nothing.  
Something you can’t see.

And if you have to stop,  
Then let me know.  
Feel the weight on your shoulders  
Just let it go.

And if you have to leave  
Then let me know  
Cause I can go it alone  
You can go it alone

We’re on our own.”

 

Beyond curious, Agron glanced around quickly to make sure no one was watching – they weren’t, all absorbed in their own lives – and then leaned over to peek through a crack in the bleachers that showed underneath the extendable seats. Grimy and dark, it wasn’t the most comfortable place to hang out but he’d heard rumors about people making out or getting high under them during assemblies before. To his chagrin, he’d never been able to fit due to his weight and large shoulders but sitting against the wall with his knees close to his chest, earbuds in, and singing softly to himself, was Nasir. 

The fuck? 

Agron must have made some kind of noise or something because suddenly he found cinnamon spice – no, maybe chocolate brown? – eyes looking up at him, glittering in the faint light that shone through the cracks in the bleacher seats. He immediately stopped singing and an expression of recognition flashed across his thin face, not looking entirely friendly either, and he glared at Agron. Nasir didn’t say anything; simply looking upwards at Agron, his raven-colored hair framing his face on either side with falling tendrils, and asking a silent but understood question.

What are you going to do now? 

Agron, seized with inspiration, put a finger to his lips and grabbed his backpack. He pulled out his phone and waved it over the crack before looking down again. Nasir, whose brow was slightly furrowed, shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Agron sighed. It was supposed to represent that they could text back and forth without anyone noticing; he was never good at charades. Chewing on his lip, he thought for a moment then an impish smile appeared on his face as an idea popped up into his head. 

Putting technology aside, he pulled out a spare flashcard from his Speech class last year that he had never bothered to throw away, a pen, and scribbled as inconspicuously as he could to prevent others from noticing: ‘Give me your phone number and we can text. - Agron’

Agron then slid the notecard through the crack and waited patiently, a certain thrill in the note passing that made his heart beat faster like it did in grade school.

A moment later, the notecard peaked up from the crack and Agron grabbed it. In a handwriting that was almost worse than Agron’s, but not quite, and in red ink read: ‘I’m not giving you my phone number. Are you going to tell anyone I’m down here? – N.’

Agron replied: ‘I won’t if you give me your phone number.’

It was a little while until Nasir finally sent the notecard back up. ‘I don’t have a cell phone.’

Agron blinked, astonished. No cell phone? That couldn’t be right…could it? Everyone seemed to have a cell phone. He even once saw a homeless man yelling into one near the train tracks, or he could’ve been crazy and simply pretending to be doing so, but still. Was Nasir just pulling his leg and trying to dodge the request? Or did he really not have one and, if so, why? Was he that against society’s norms or because he couldn’t afford one or was it due to more insidious reasons? He thought carefully about his next words and wrote down: ‘That’s okay. Old school it is. What’s your name?’ He had that initially but then scrunched in ‘full’ before ‘name.’ 

Sneaky little man wasn’t going to trick him!

The reply was quick this time. 

‘What if I don’t want to tell you?’

‘Then I go nark to the principle himself. Your choice – me or detention.’

There was a pause as if Nasir was actually considering his options but the notecard popped up again, almost to Agron’s relief. 

‘Nasir Civis, ass.’

‘Is ‘ass’ an official title?’

Agron swore he heard a low chuckle but it could’ve been from one of the other students surrounding him. Although he was swarmed with kids talking to each other in whispers or looking at their phones or fake paying attention to Principle Batiatus go on and on about “the unity and convergence of our two schools will only be brief but we should shoulder this opportunity to fester growth and friendship while this moment is available,” Agron felt it was just him and Nasir. Their conversation of letters and words scrunched onto a small notecard was like a refuge, a moment away from technology and screens, just them two in their own little world.

‘Depends on who you ask…’ started Nasir. ‘But I prefer ‘ninja kid’ as you said earlier, though I find the ‘kid’ part to be a little insulting.’

Agron winced, forgetting for a moment that Nasir couldn’t see him. ‘You heard our conversation then?’

‘Most of it. I liked the girl with the braid’s comments the best; she’s fierce. Why did you lie and say you didn’t find me?’

Agron sat with the notecard in his lap for a while, thinking. He wasn’t even sure why he’d followed Nasir to the library in the first place. What could he say? That he had to meet Nasir for some reason, a reason unknown even to himself? That he wanted Nasir to like him and not get his ass handed to him by Crixus in an actual fight? And how could he put that into words without sounding as ridiculous or weird as he thought it did in his head? 

Finally, switching sides of the notecard, he put down: ‘Maybe because I’m not as arrogant as you want to think.’

‘I don’t think you’re arrogant, I know you’re arrogant.’

‘Isn’t that somewhat arrogant on your part? Saying you know everything about someone you barely even know?’

‘I know your kind.’

‘Not me.’

‘What makes you different?’

Space was becoming cramped on the notecard and Agron was forced to smush his handwriting even smaller and hoped Nasir could decipher it. ‘Let me show you.’

Principle Batiatus had finally finished his long, drawn-out speech as Agron dropped the slip and started dismissing the students. He attempted to at least do it in an organized fashion but the kids were all hurrying towards the exits to get to the bathroom or their lockers before the next period started. Spartacus was already gone, probably to find a quiet spot to call Sura, and Saxa and Mira were fighting through the crowd, but Crixus was standing a bleacher down from Agron. Luckily, he wasn’t looking in Agron’s direction to see the notecard pop back up. Agron grabbed it, crunching it into a wad, and threw it into his backpack.

Crixus looked at him. “Ready for the joy of fucking English?”

“Yeah, sure.” With no other choice but to follow Crixus, Agron waited with him as the students all milled about, seemingly going nowhere and to Agron it felt like decades were passing him by as he waited. There was nothing more he wanted to do than pull out that abused notecard and read Nasir’s response but with Crixus next to him, he couldn’t do it without arising the grunt’s suspicious nature. Frustrated, he merely shifted his weight from foot to foot, tightening and untightening his hands into fists to restrain himself from punching something – or more than likely someone. 

Yet, he couldn’t help himself as they passed the bleachers and Agron bent down to look under them. To his disappointment, he found only shadows, dust, and old wrappers under the extendable stairs; no Nasir. 

“What are you looking at?” Crixus asked, peering next to him and looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing. I just thought I saw something but it wasn’t anything important, a trick on the eyes, I guess,” answered Agron, ending the topic quickly and switching to another. “Have you started on the assignment, Mrs. Werner gave us? Or picked a topic for the paper?” 

“Dude, that paper’s not due for another two months, I’m not going to sweat it until –“ Agron tuned him out once he recognized the familiar cues that meant Crixus was going off on one of his tangents about unnecessary and pointless homework assignments, especially the ones that required a work cited page. It didn’t give him the opportunity to read the notecard and Nasir’s response but it at least allowed him to tune out Crixus and not think about keeping up a conversation as his mind kept straying to Nasir and their soundless conversation. It wasn’t very long so it didn’t take long but it just repeated over and over in his head, waiting for an ending that was just out of reach. 

Finally, once they reached the safety of English 12 and everyone’s attention was elsewhere, Agron seized the moment and pulled out the notecard. His eyes practically blurred over the words, there weren’t very many.

‘You can try.’

Agron smirked.

Game on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Go It Alone" by Dash Berlin (featuring Sarah Howells).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nasir thinks too much; Laeta is bae; and trains may or may not have been harmed in the publication of this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Cliffie at the end.
> 
> Thanks for comments and kudos!

Nasir despised lunch period.

As other students went hurrying to the cafeteria in the school’s basement, their one moment of not having to pretend to be paying attention or looking interested while the teacher talked about irony in Oedipus Rex, Nasir trudged up towards the library, despondent. Usually he had homework or something else to work on but as it was the first day of classes for the new Easters (though still moronically called Westers by the primary students), teachers were lax in assigning anything because it wasn’t like they never had homework before. 

So as he sat down in a corner of the library where some vacant study cubicles were placed almost dejectedly, a spot as far away from the door as logically possible. He just put in his earbuds that were connected to his ancient, second-hand I-Pod and hit play. Unlike devices of the current generations, the device was filled to the brim with songs and little else, its purpose music, not Facebook or Twitter or email. As sound and lyrics flowed into him, Nasir sighed gratefully, feeling a small sense of peace fall over him. He debated whether he should just rest his head for the next hour or not but he went against it and pulled out a tattered journal instead. 

It wasn’t much to look at from the outside with the slate grey leather cover practically falling off except for layers upon layers of tape holding it in place and pages sticking out at awkward angles but, to Nasir, it was much more than that. The title of ‘journal’ had little resemblance to the actual concept Nasir had for it as the book was his everything – his world, his thoughts and ideas, his hopes and fears, his dreams and his scratchings of reality. Nasir didn’t necessarily have a proficiency in selecting prose and using syntax to produce meaning in written words but he was talented in other ways, as drawings and doodles and flashes of color and shades of dark and light were mixed with words and song lyrics – a cacophony of symbols that would only seem like the journal of a psychotic person but made perfect logical sense to Nasir. Each page was a gateway to a memory and how he felt at a certain point in his life.

Turning to a new page absent of any drawings or words and randomly choosing a pen from his stash – Nasir had the horrible and relentless habit of stealing and hoarding pens and pencils – he allowed himself to release his thoughts upon the page. It didn’t take long before his mind relaxed fully and he wasn’t even thinking about what his hand was doing anymore, unleashing control and allowing his subconscious to fulfill its every whim and desire in the form of words or drawings or simple shades – on one extremely dark day in his life without even realizing it until he was done, Nasir had blackened a whole page, practically tearing it with inks of black and navy blue except for a small colorful dot in the middle that was so shrouded by the darkness that it was almost overlooked unless you were actively searching for it. 

As songs passed and the hour wilted down, Nasir finally brought himself back to reality and looked down upon the page. Hazily in the corner, as if an image from a distorted nightmare, stood a figure with a loud mouth and an impossibly disproportionate small body, who was screaming wordlessly, believing everyone was listening but no one was. The words “Who cares if you disagree? You are not me!” were written in all capitals next to it. Nasir easily recognized what that symbolized – the douche, Crixus, whose mouth was bigger than his actual importance – and the lyrics was from a song he was listening to that resonated with him at the time and worked with what he was drawing. Though that wasn’t what caught Nasir’s attention and made his mouth suddenly dry.

Two eyes stared out at him from the page, green and bright…the color of fading fall leaves in early autumn. 

No, no, no – NO! Nasir thought as the eyes’ owner popped into his head but he couldn’t believe it. They weren’t Agron’s eyes, not the annoying boy who made little sense to Nasir, not the kid who was captain of the football team of all freaking sports. Slamming the journal shut with a force that knocked out a couple of loose pages, Nasir groaned and rubbed his palms furiously against his eyes. Black dots obscured his vision for a moment but once they cleared, the adamant green eyes stared at him with a mischievous light as if he secretly knew something Nasir didn’t –a look which annoyed Nair above anything else. 

Agron simply didn’t add up. Captain of the football team, rich, spoiled, arrogant, and God-crazed all equaled standard, class-A douchebag material, or at least it should have if Agron followed the usual pattern of shitty high school students. But that move under the bleachers with the notecard and not ratting out Nasir to Crixus? It was actually…decent. His responses and questions weren’t exactly what Nasir had expected from the green-eyed giant as if he was trying to goad Nasir out and talk to him more openly. Yet, Nasir reasoned with himself, it had to be all a front as there was no logical reason why Agron would want to be friends with Nasir and it was all simply an attempt to manipulate him into a scenario devised to embarrass him. 

Which would make sense when Nasir had peeked out from under the bleachers as the assembly finished and witnessed Agron standing next to Crixus, looking irritated. His thin, handsome face was tight with barely suppressed anger, jaw standing out as well as a vein throbbing in his neck, and his faded leaf eyes were as fierce as cut emeralds, sharp and pointed as if he was ready to lash out at anyone that dared approach him. His knuckles were practically white, he was clutching them so tightly. Agron looked formidable and there could only be so many reasons for it. Nasir, recognizing that Agron was most likely pissed off because of his casual response, had quickly slipped out in the opposite direction and out a side door, which he was probably not allowed to go through but did nonetheless. If he had ran into anyone, he would simply use the excuse that he didn’t know better, but luckily met no one until he found the sanctuary of his second period class, which was Agron and Crixus free. 

The warning bell rang and Nasir let out a relieved sigh as he quickly packed up his supplies, journal, and scattered pages into his tattered messenger bag and hurried off to his next class. The West Solace High students had been forced to come to the school on a Saturday so they could learn their classes and the layout of the school so Nasir walked with sureness if not ease towards his next class, keeping his head down and avoiding others’ gazes, tucking his long hair into his sweatshirt’s hood so it would be harder for others to identify him from a distance; he really didn’t feel like dealing with Crixus more today.

Nasir was the first to reach the Chemistry classroom, even before the teacher, and took a seat in the far back corner. He kept his hood up and pulled out his journal again, fixing the loose pages that had slipped out and placed them back into where they were in the book and his life’s timeline. Once he got to the recent page and the green eyes met his humorously, Nasir felt an uncertain lurch in his stomach and contemplated ripping out the page but stayed his hand – he had promised a long time ago that he would never rip a page out and he wouldn’t go against it simply because of Agron. 

Other kids were filing into the room and the chatter slowly escalated as more and more came but Nasir ignored them, head bowed as he drew around the green eyes and tried to make them less noticeable with leaves, swirls, musical lyrics, and anything else he could imagine. Yet, no matter what he tried, the comical gaze never wavered from his, laughing at him from the green depths, and Nasir glared back, angry at Agron and more so at himself. 

“Who’s that?”

Nasir shot his head up and for a horrible yet strangely exhilarating moment, he thought it was Agron, but instead it was a pretty girl, who sat down in the seat in front of him. She had a round, cherub-like face with aqua-colored eyes and long, auburn hair that curled around her face and against her shoulders. The color of her hair was a strong contrast against the paleness of her face and the blackness of her outfit, a low-cut shirt and black sweatpants that highlighted the curves of her body. She was pretty but by the softness of her gaze and the impish way she ducked her head, she either wasn’t aware of it or wasn’t petty enough to show off. 

“No one, nothing,” Nasir snapped. He closed the journal and stashed it back into his bag with the quick efficacy of an action well-rehearsed. When he looked up, the girl was still looking at him, expression watchful. “What do you want?”

“You’re the guy who stood up to Crixus Miller, aren’t you?” She asked quietly, playing with the tips of her hair nervously. Her gaze, however, didn’t move away from his. “I was watching when you did…It was pretty amazing and I just wanted to say thank you. Miller is a jerk and a lot of people here have been wanting to see him get a taste of his own medicine for a long time.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Nasir said, not meeting her gaze directly. “I just hate people who get in my face for idiotic things. He had no reason for being dramatic and challenging me about my hair. Of all things I could be disliked for, he was upset about my hair…I don’t want your thanks.”

“You have them anyway even if you don’t want them,” the young woman said, chewing on her lip. Finally, she stuck out her hand towards Nasir. “I’m Laeta, by the way, Laeta Winn. I’d ask what your name is but the whole courtyard heard it when you gave it to Crixus, Nasir.”

Nasir, slightly suspicious, looked at the hand before returning his attention to her open face. “Why do you care? You don’t know me.” He found the words echoing from another strange conversation he had not too long ago.

“No, I don’t, but that’s kind of the point of me talking to you right now,” she explained in a condescending tone that would’ve been insulting if it wasn’t for the little, playful smile on her face. “You know…we exchange words, words have meanings, meanings sometimes can be jokes, jokes turn into laughter, laughter results in memories, and memories make friendships, Nasir. It’s a very simple process for such a pivotal requirement of life.” Her lips twitched but she couldn’t keep the grin from growing on her face. “And maybe that’s the point exactly.” 

He allowed a small chuckle and shook her hand. “Fine. You win.” 

“I know,” she huffed dramatically. “It is my last name.” They shared a small laugh at the horrible joke. “So – crush on Agron Schmidt, huh?”

Nasir blinked. “What!?” Surprise and astonishment raised his voice and a few curious eyes looked in their direction but he ignored them, as did Laeta, though he did lower his tone as he leaned forward and inquired, “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I saw the picture you drew of his eyes. Amazing detail, by the way…I wish I could draw but I don’t have the talent for it. If you want stick figures, though, I’m your girl,” Laeta explained, seemingly more comfortable with him at every word though his unease only grew as she rattled on quietly between them. 

“They weren’t his – I mean, those weren’t his eyes – I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sputtered Nasir, face blushing. Was everyone at this fucking school nosy and annoying as hell?

Laeta gave him a sad look. “Oh, dude. It’s nothing to be shy about – everyone has a crush on Agron Schmidt, straight, gay, and everything in between. Maybe not a sexual crush but an attraction nonetheless, as everyone wants to be him or have him. He’s very pretty, which, I suppose, you already know from your artwork.” She squinted her eyes as if contemplating something. “I don’t really think he’s gay though as I only know girls whom he slept with, no guys.”

That comment made Nasir feel another uncomfortable drop in his stomach as if a heavy stone was placed there but he only said, “So he’s a man whore?”

“No, I wouldn’t go as far as to call him that…” Laeta said slowly. “Girls actually complain that he doesn’t put out very often and I really, really want to say he’s never had a significant relationship with any of the girls who claimed they did the nasty together with him either. Some think that is a little suspicious but I wouldn’t want to date any of the girls here, especially the ones he tends to have around him, as they’re all skanks. Especially Saxa – you meet her yet?” Nasir shook his head. “Good, don’t. She’ll only make you rue the fact you’re alive and have the ability to hear.” 

The bell rang and the teacher entered the classroom, saving Nasir from having to reply. Laeta turned around to face the front of the room and Nasir was left alone with his thoughts, which wasn’t exactly something Nasir was pleased about as he found them muddled with images of Agron, green eyes, Laeta’s comments, and flashes from the notecard. 

In Nasir’s exhausting world, things had to make sense logically, it was what got him by, how he survived such oppressive environments through his life. Two plus two was four; the sky was blue and the grass green; poor people were shunned and beautiful guys like Agron Schmidt were assholes who didn’t bother to talk to individuals like himself. There might be variables from time to time but their probability was so low that Nasir had never expected to meet one in real life and definitely not like Agron. 

The library. The notecard. All of those things could be thought of as flirting, even though Nasir detested calling it such, but his mood at the assembly when Nasir sidestepped his request to learn more about him… That was sort of the whole opposite of flirting as Agron looked like he was going to punch someone in the face. Then Laeta’s comments about Agron – it just didn’t add up and when something didn’t result in what Nasir expected, it usually meant he wasn’t aware of something or had everything all wrong in the first place. 

Sighing, Nasir cleared his mind with such thoughts at the best he could, although the green eyes were adamant at the back of his head, and tried to learn more about the connection between Hydrogen and Carbon. 

The end of the school day finally came and Nasir found himself walking the long distance back to his house near West Solace High alone. There were buses in place to take the Westers home but it would’ve been an extra hour of waiting as the buses for the Easters still had to take the original kids from East Solace High home. Seeing this as an opportunity for Crixus to find him and attempt something, Nasir just foregone the whole thing and took the initiative by going on foot. This had the negative aspect that he was left alone with his thoughts. At the forefront was Agron but Nasir pushed him away vehemently and tried thinking of someone else. 

There was really one other individual – the girl in Chemistry. Laeta had been kind to him, another equation which also was a little obscure, and after Chemistry, they agreed to hang out sometime but Nasir wasn’t exactly willing to ever follow up with that promise. What would he have in common with a beautiful and most-likely rich girl? For hell’s sake, her last name was Winn, the farthest thing that Nasir had ever done in his lifetime. Yet, she had been nice and didn’t seem to care that he could – even though he wasn’t – be interested in Agron, which made her seem even more acceptable. Another thing that didn’t add up. People at East Solace High were supposed to innately be assholes, like an extra code in their DNA or something that made them compulsively act like douches and rich snobs; Laeta and Agron were proving that theory wrong.

Annnnnnnnnnnnd back to Agron. 

Again. 

“Fuck!” Nasir yelled into his sleeve though it still echoed in the side street he was walking along. 

He had only met this dude for one freaking day and he couldn’t get him out his head, as if he was some kind of brain parasite. Things like obsessing over a dude was for movies or dramatic TV shows that had people bursting into song whenever they had to sneeze or scratch their ass or something even more mundane, not for practical Nasir. He couldn’t be in…what even was this? Obsession? Lust? Desire? Hate? Nasir wasn’t even sure how he felt about this Agron dude and was probably overreacting as Laeta had said the hot, bitter truth – Agron was straight and he had slept with only girls before.

Then what was up with the notecard? That had to mean something, right? 

Nasir sighed, frustrated. This was not him, this wasn’t how he wanted himself to act like. He was Nasir Civis, he was smart, aloof, and an observer, and he didn’t need people or anyone for that matter in his life. Books and words and drawings would raise him beyond such things as money and poverty, to be liked or hated…above love. He would never get anywhere in his life if he focused upon things that weren’t important, that wouldn’t get him to achieve his goals to get out of Solace, and as far away from people like Crixus as possible. Like Laeta. 

Like Agron.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Nasir contemplated the long road still ahead of him and decided to take a slight detour and go to his getaway, his refuge beyond the library. Solace was not a very large town but the history behind it was extensive as it had started out when the railroad first came into existence so many years ago. People and houses sprouted up and they were originally on the west side of the tracks but as more money came pouring in, people decided to expand the town and build on the other side. After a while, the town lost its status as simply being an extravagant train station, especially as the method of trains decreased for means of travel and transportation, but they kept it around as a historical site and still used it to at times to ship cargo and whatnot. 

Nasir walked along its tracks, rock and gravel shifting with each step he took, and he withdrew the earbuds from his ears and stowed them back into his bag along with his I-Pod. Silence, which always seemed heavier after shutting off the music, loomed all around him but he didn’t mind as it was what he craved. After a day of hectic high school students, crazed steroid giants, and an emotional rollercoaster of green eyes and notecards, Nasir enjoyed the calm of the tracks and peacefulness it ensured as there was really no point for anyone to come here so seldom has he ever been bothered by another living thing, save the occasional squirrel that scampered by, intent on whatever squirrels deem important. 

Tossing his bag to the side, Nasir stepped onto the aged metal and attempted to balance himself on the thin rail. After a few attempts of almost falling on his face, he managed and just stood there, closing his eyes, and allowing his imagination freedom. To believe he was standing at the edge of a looming cliff, leaning back and forth precariously, and just waiting for the moment that he would lose his balance and fall. Would he fall backwards or forwards? What did he prefer? 

It was how his life was – a continuous current of ups and downs that left him feeling like he was teetering, moving back and forth among the good and bad, but he often than not found himself stuck in the bad. Death, hardship, and pain seemed to target him like a human bullseye, each an arrow to his being, and he found their excessive and unnecessary weight tiring. It was why Nasir enjoyed logic and reason so much as they were simply true, not good or bad, light or dark, they simply were. They made sense, they were stable, they were the rail he balanced on so he wouldn’t fall. 

Nasir took a trembling breath and as he did, he felt a shaking in the very ground beneath his feet. It was light but it almost made him lose his balance but he managed to stay upright, his footing sure. He didn’t bother to open his eyes; he knew what the source was – a train. The tracks were not used very often but from time to time, a cargo train would come along and just breeze through the town. Usually Nasir would move out of the way and watch the train go by, wishing that he could go with it, rolling right out of Solace without a thought, without a care. 

Yet, Nasir didn’t. 

He simply took a breath and waited. 

He always wanted to leave this town one way or another. 

Maybe this was his way. 

The rumbling only increased, the very gravel shaking with the trains approaching force, and Nasir found it harder to stay upright but he continued nonetheless, waiting. He was just…tired. Tired of having a poor, shitty life, exhausted of dealing with people like Crixus Miller, and weary of thinking people like Agron Schmidt could ever like him as Nasir grudgingly liked them. Time after time, he found such thoughts to be wasteful as they never resulted in something beneficial, usually only digging deeper, hurting worse in the end. 

A harsh horn blasted through the air, loud and pealing, and Nasir could feel the exhilaration of the train, a light wind that foretold of a way out, a promise of an escape. He raised his arms and welcomed it gladly. 

Then Nasir felt as if he was hit by a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh...Cliff hanger!!
> 
> Don't hate me!


End file.
